I watch his fingers brush the pages of the Bible as he turns them. And I watch his lips move as he speaks the sermon. I notice the way his dark eyes land on me. I cannot give a name to these feelings for Father Roman. He has already taken his vows of celibacy, and I am about to take mine. But I can’t help the way I feel in his presence: like I’m dying of thirst and he is the holy water I need. No, I cannot give a name to these feelings. Although, deep down, I know what this is. This is lust. And it will be a miracle if I can get through this Christmas without letting these feelings slip